The Call of a Brother
by KiwiRaptor
Summary: Fíli can just barely see him, curled on his side and clutching his bow, hidden in the desolate background, which is littered with the disfigured bodies of allies and enemies alike. He desperately screams his name, hoping beyond hope that Kíli's answering call will ring out true and safe. BOTFA.


Fíli can just barely see him, curled on his side and clutching his bow, hidden in the desolate background, which is littered with the disfigured bodies of allies and enemies alike. He desperately screams his name, hoping beyond hope that Kíli's answering call will ring out true and safe.

He has to crawl out from under a warg carcass, arrows snapping painfully from his body, in order to get to his brother. It is a hard task, one that leaves his body drained and throbbing, but one he is willing to endure.

It is all worth it when he finally drags himself to his brother's side and his efforts are rewarded with a tired smile, one that he treasures more than all the riches hidden beneath Erebor. The smile is broken and full of plain, a far cry from the mischievous grin that commonly adorns his brother's sweet face, but it is a smile nonetheless and Fíli feels whole once again.

"Fi…li…" Kíli's voice crawls into his ears and straight to his heart, piercing it with both relief and worry. Fíli murmurs sweet nothings to his brother, bumping foreheads with such gentleness, chanting his brother's name over and over again in a miserable attempt at comfort while his eyes wander over the other's form.

There is a harsh looking cleaver burrowed in Kíli's shoulder, making the dark haired dwarf wince every time he so much as twitches his head. Two arrows are burrowed deep in his brother's gut, their shafts broken where Kíli had grabbed at them in a feeble attempt to pull them out. His little brother's left arm is bent as such an angle that Fíli cringes, his own arm twitching as if he can feel it. And he truly believes he does. Just as he feels every ragged breath his brother gasps out, his own heart lurching in his chest in ways that prove far too difficult to ignore.

"W-ha… 'bou-t… u… unc-" Fíli immediately understands, adjusting himself so that he is leaning over his best friend, shielding Kíli from both prying eyes and deadly aim. His hand fumbles to cup his chin, with its prickly stubble and dry blood, and stroke it in what he hopes to be a reassuring manner, trembling fingers be damned.

"He's… fine. Alive, though barely so." In truth, he knew nothing of Thorin's whereabouts, let alone whether he still lived. The last he had seen of their uncle-made-king was when he had stumbled against a fresh wave of orcs and they had come to his aid, swords flashing and arrows whizzing, all too quickly losing sight of him in the masses of flesh and steel. Yet, he did not speak this knowledge out loud, for he knew exactly what Kíli wanted to hear and did nothing to stop the untruth from leaving his lips. He was never one to deny his brother, especially in what might be his- no, their, last moments. "It will be a hard recovery, but everyone will bear through."

Kíli's head moves ever so slightly in what seems to be a nod of approval. It isn't until Fíli collapses next to him, grunting in pain when the spear head lodged in his side is thrust further in and his vision blurs, that the tears start appearing. It isn't until the heart wrenching sobs halt that Fíli hears the small "I'm s-scar'd."

Fíli wants to wipe those tears away. He wants his own tears to halt in their tracks so he may rightly bear down all the pain that may or may not fall onto Kíli. He wants to pick his brother up and carry him away somewhere, anywhere, safe. He wants to laugh once more with his brother, falling off their seats when it becomes too much for them. He wants to wrestle and argue over trivial matters, it ending in smiles one way or another. He wants to practice their swordsmanship together, turning it into a passionate competition when he starts showing signs of winning. He wants to settle down by the fire next to him and bicker about bigger servings until they nod off together. He wants to wake up to his obnoxious snoring, ultimately kicking him awake when it becomes unbearable.

Yet, above all else, Fíli wants nothing more than to be able to tell him that everything will be alright and be right.

Instead, he grasps Kíli's hand tightly in his own and says, "I'm right here."

Their eyes meet and both find what they are looking for. They share a small smile and murmur to each other, stories of the memorable past and long-lost future; they speak of honor, of adventure, of love. However, soon, far too soon, a deadly silence overtakes them.

In the distance Fíli can hear people calling out, cries of anguish and determination mesh together to form one devastating sound. Fíli watches his thumb absently trail blood across Kíli's palm, the rhythm growing slower and slower as the energy it take to perform such a task becomes too draining.

"Kíli?" He mumbles, blankly staring at his brother's now limp hand within his own. When there is no answer he tries again. And again. And again.

He is numb; numb to the pain, numb to his emotions, numb to the world. He can feel himself drifting into unconsciousness, floating higher, into the deepest sleep he has ever known; away from the battle, away from the world.

Slowly, his eyes close and he drifts off into oblivion with his brother's name on his lips.


End file.
